Silent Hill: Restless Nightmares on Elm Street
by LASTkNIGHT
Summary: Cheryl Mason's best friend has sleep problems. They think they the answer might be in the small town of Springwood. What they don't know is that both of their worst nightmares are about to come under the control of psychotic seriel killer Freddy Krueger
1. Susie Q

Cheryl sits in the back of the van cupping the cushioned headphones against her ears. She's zoned out, looking down at the floor. She notices her friend Patience has a hole in her boot that causes her omni-stripe-colored sock to poke out. Her other sock is similar, but not a match. She's wearing black denim shorts, a matching vest and a comic-con T-shirt. Sporting shoulder length black hair, pulled into a ponytail with small dangles of hair behind her ears. She's pale faced and has kind of proto-goth style, wearing only black eyeliner, and no make-up. Despite this, her face has an uncharacteristic traditional beauty to it, like Audrey Hepburn.

Patience's eyes are fixed on Cheryl "...What?" she asks, shifting uncomfortably.

"What're you listening to?" Patience asks, leaning forward her voice is a veil of warmth over curiosity. But Cheryl can't hear her.

She removes an earpiece, "What?"

"What song is that?" Patience asks again.

She drops the headphones around her neck. "O-'Susie-Q'."

"Susie-Q?" Patience re-initiates, raising her brows.

"Uh-Huh. It's a Creedance song." she rubs the side of the i-Pod with her thumb looking down at the screen. Dad used to listen to them sometimes." She looks back up at Patience.

"My dad never listened to music. Not until I learned how to play guitar," she laughs, "Now he thinks he's some kind of music expert. I keep telling him; you only listen to one artist and your opinions are biased." She rocks back and forth gleefully, partly to the motion of the van.

Cheryl quietly says "Yeah." And turns her attention back to the floor.

"Are you okay?" she questions - opening up.

Cheryl's nod is almost frantic, cracking a soulful-sad smile, "Yeah, I'm fine. New place I guess that's all."

"Don't worry." she says taking a bottle of water and an orange cylinder from her bag. "I've been there it's not much different than Silent Hill." she takes a drink

Heather looks up, quietly surprised that her friend has brought up - or has even been to - Silent Hill. She shakes it off.

Patience removes the cap on her medication and puts the pill on her tongue. "I just meant that it's small, you know," she takes another swig of water swallowing the drug, "like our town. Should be easy to get used to." She sets the water back in the bag "- Anyways, my dad, he was pretty upset at how far away it is. Because now he won't be able to come and see me like he used to - Perform, and stuff."

"You guys are pretty close." a lonely glint in her eye. She could still feel it, the pain of it, having lost someone close to her.

The smile draws across Patience's whole face, "Yeah. He's pretty cool most of the time. What about your dad, is he coming to visit you?"

"He's dead." She smiles awkwardly to lighten the impact, she's certain it hasn't worked.

"Oh..." Patience finally realizes why Heather has been so withdrawn. "I'm sorry I thought cuz you -- Well you never talk about your family and I... Well, I guess, I figured, the guy there, when we came to pick you up, was, your father." She says stumbling over her words.

"No that's Douglas he's just a - private - detective." She realizes this isn't an adequate description. But how can the relationship be accurately described? It can't. If she told her the truth Patience would just think she was crazy.

"Okay..." Patience has found herself in another confusing, and slightly awkward situation. Against her better judgement she presses on. "So are you two like," she raises her eyebrows and body gestures a "you know..." type insinuation.

Cheryl's face is empty confusion, which quickly morphs into revoltion. "Eew. NO! What's wrong with you? - That's disgusting."

"Well how would I know, you're the one living with the guy." she offers up.

"I just don't know how you can come up with that." she scowls, "He takes care of me, that's it."

"Alright, calm down." Patience says, using her hands to push down the animosity.

"Don't ever ask me anything like that again..." she responds in a matter-of-fact mumble.

"'Kay, Jesus, I said I was sorry... Anyway, It's not THAT disgusting." She takes a packet of tic-tacs out of her pocket and pours some into her hand. Cheryl giggles, Patience can't quite figure out the sudden mood swing, "What?"

"Are you saying that you would..." Cheryl's eyes glimmer past a suppressed grin

Patience's face begins to swell red at the accusation. "NO. No, not me. What I mean - I was saying was. People have, like, their preferences - you know? There's nothing wrong with it... It's not for me - but there's nothing wrong with it."

Cheryl can see past the nervousness to tell that she's being serious, but she responds contentiously to tease her, "Mm-hmm."

"Shuuut uup..." she tosses a tic-tac at her. Which Cheryl actually catches, open mouthed. "Oh-HOE! Two points!... Nice save Sherry."

"Thanks!" She says cocking her head proudly.

"I'm glad you're coming with me. I know you didn't have to. So, yeah..." She fingers the tic-tacs left in her palm.

"That's okay... You're one of my only friends. It wouldn't be right if I let you go alone."

"You probably could have gone to any school you wanted." Her shoulder cradles her face a moment as she grins, a soft layer of sadness rises from her eyelids.

"With my grades?" Cheryl remarks "Not really."

"Yeah. Still, it must suck being dragged to one because your best friend's a freak." She gives one of those half-frowned smirks. The kind reserved for unpleasant truths.

Cheryl, looks away in shame, "You're not a freak, Patience, believe me."

"Two weeks ago my doctor prescribed some shit; Hypnocil." she takes it out of her bag, staring at the label. "I haven't had any more nightmares. I still sleepwalk though... They say the area has the highest amount of dream doctors in the U.S.. - They've even got two sleep clinics. You know that? I guess it doesn't matter now that I've got the drugs..." She's still looking at the bottle, having spoken very proudly of her newly found freedom of sleep. "The night terrors and stuff are gone... I'm hoping they, the doctors, can help anyway. I don't want to be on this stuff forever."

"Why not? If it's helping?" Cheryl is completely perplexed. She had heard her friend talk about the night terrors. Accidents. Cutting herself. Breaking things. One time she pushed her brother out of a window as he tried to calm her during one of her spells. The fall broke his leg. She couldn't see how not taking the drug could help anything.

"I can't write any music while I'm on it." she says her frustration warping into confusion "I don't know. I never really thought my dreams were important - or where I got my ideas from or anything like that - but ever since I've been taking it -- It's like, I can't write anything... Good, anyway."

"Maybe it's just a phase or something."

"Maybe. But I don't think so."

"What'll you do if they can't help?"

"I'll settle with the nightmares and night terrors, I guess." she exhales loudly. "Making music is what the whole thing is about."

"What what whole thing is about?"

"Me."


	2. WARNING: Restless Dreams May Cause Death

Eyes open. A ball of sweat rolls cold down Shiloh's forehead obstructing her vision. She peels it away, rubbing at it until her vision clears.

Thirst. Her mouth is dry as sand after a long receded tide. The thick of her tongue sticks like flypaper to the roof of her mouth.

Water.

She throws off the covers. Smears of blood cover those covers, spread out from her legs and striping pieces of bed linen. She looks at it hesitantly. 'Is this a dream?' "...Fuck." She says touching the top of her inner thigh. 'A little early isn't it?' She throws the sheets back farther, heading into the bathroom. Amidst her soft steps, she hears the silent pat of droplets smacking against the floor. Her hand finds the knob to the bathroom, suddenly the door flies open, banging against the wall, bouncing off of it and half-way closing again.

The light clicks on, over exposing her iris, as she blinks there are little blotches of black that trip across her vision. In front of her, seemingly through her, walks a young woman dressed in a white night gown. Tarnished red everywhere below the waist. The woman is breathing heavy with matching groans, clutching her belly wounded-like. She takes hold of the empty towel-bar, but it snaps off landing on the floor. The woman now on her knees begins to speak and ask for help, but Shiloh can hardly understand her because she is speaking in Farsi. As she rolls over onto her belly, Shiloh finally realizes that this is her mother, roughly her age... pregnant with her. 'This has to be a dream' she thinks. But it's so real, and she feels so bad for her. She looks so helpless. She tries to comfort her, speaking softly. "It's okay." With one hand she reaches over to slide a bang from her mother's face, but she vanishes. Shiloh remains slumped over bathroom floor, blotches of blood covering her, and beneath her feet.

The doorway creeks open. Just beyond it. The shadowy outline, the fedora hat, the mangled shirt collar, the claws, of Freddy Krueger. He laughs "Aah, the birth of a child. What a miracle." She speeds at the door slamming it shut! Her scattery fingers find the lock, turning it shut. Her head rests against the door frame as the feelings of fear and sadness bubble and bulge into her throat, but manifest through her eyes.

"Leave me alone!" She pleads.

"You are alone..." he responds. Silence.

She slides away from the door frame, tears falling from her cheeks against the floor tiles. Her fear is disarming, even now. The tension has subsided. In it's wake is a terrible thought. The claws tear through the door, splintering it. She jumps away screaming frantically! "AH! Nooo! NO! Ahh God..." 'Why?' Her voice begins to weaken at the edge of her panic. She clutches her head. The claws pierce the door again! "Ah-ah-ah-HAH! NOoo! STOP! STOP IT! STOP IT! PLEASE!" She has buckled over now wrapping her arms around herself. "Why'reyou doing this to me!?" She cries, wiping the edge of her nose. Once again the claws break against the door, and she's yanked back by a nervous jolt. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" she demands spastically with all her agonized might.

She cowers, moving farther and farther back toward the wall. Her eyes sealed to the door the whole way. Before the end, she bumps into something soft. Something human. "HEY!" She twists around, his face is gnarled anger. His dirty leather-clad glove raises over the singed white of the bathroom walls, above his head. "Miss me?" He swipes down across her face. But she doesn't feel the blade, she wakes up shrieking, and thrashing in her bed.

She falls limp across the mattress. Outside the wail of a medical siren, blares blocks away. She pulls herself onward and goes straight to the bathroom. But upon opening the door. She is hesitant. When the knob turns and the door glides to a standstill, she is calm. Pulling away the mirror she grabs the only orange prescription bottle there, mixed in with her aspirin, caffeine pills, and Midol. She turns the label over to read it. "Hypnocil" At the bottom it reads: "WARNING: abuse may cause catatonia, coma and even death. Please consult your doctor for proper dosage."

She throws the bottle onto the floor and the cap pops off spilling the pills, spreading them at her feet, under the sleek round sink. Which she beats like a drum. If the drug wouldn't help what could she do. Another restless dream. A sleepless night.


End file.
